


Hollow Eyes

by jrml210



Series: Glassy Eyes Series [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Death Eaters, Draco Malfoy-centric, Draco's POV, Lost and confused Draco, M/M, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Oneshot, Pining Draco, Possession, Psychic Violence, Psychological Trauma, Takes place inside Draco's mind, angst and hurt, dark themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 07:15:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12383454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jrml210/pseuds/jrml210
Summary: “Words are, in my not-so-humble opinion, our most inexhaustible source of magic. Capable of both inflicting injury, and remedying it.”  —Albus DumbledoreDraco's POV during Green Eyes.Mors has taken full control of Draco’s body. Meanwhile, Draco is trapped within the confines of his own mind as he powerlessly observes the horror and malicious doings of the dark being that controls him. Broken and weak, Draco is helpless to do anything but watch. And wait.





	Hollow Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This is Part 3 of the Glassy Eyes series. This is also Draco's POV during the events that took place in the previous work, Green Eyes. It is not essential to read, if you would like to skip it. But it does give you insight to what Draco had to deal with as Mors took control of his body.

September to Easter Break

 

At first, the silence was a comfort amid the darkness that filled him. He couldn’t remember who he was or where he was laying. His surroundings were neither cold or warm. He had no physical or bodily needs that needed attending to. He never slept.

When he’d first opened his eyes, he’d seen nothing. He’d assumed he was dead and that this was some sort of limbo, and he felt a bit uncertain about laying there and having to wait for something — anything — to happen to him, but he supposed that was the point of a place between life and death. He couldn’t do anything but wait.

And wait he did. He barely had any control of his body. He felt too drained to move, and he couldn’t think through the listless weight that sat behind his eyes.

So he lay there, unmoving and unknowing of what was happening around him for the longest time. He had no care for the things he could not see or hear.

Occasionally though, the room would brighten. Just a bit. The room would get just a little less black and he would be able to make out the silhouettes of furniture, things, and objects around him. It would pique his interest for a moment or two. Then the blackness would return and the images disappeared. It was no matter. He’d just wait until he could see them again.

Time felt like it had no presence here. He didn’t know the concept of days turning into weeks, or when it eventually turned into the colder months of the year. He had no idea.

Sometimes, just to make sure he was still in existence, if not an actual living being, he’d twitch his pinkie. He’d twitch it once. Just once. Then he’d count. No actual numbers, but a semblance of it. Time would pass. Silence. Blackness. Then he’d twitch his pinkie again whenever he felt like he needed another quick reminder.

One time, he went to twitch his finger and his entire hand moved. He felt a jolt run through him but the feeling diminished a moment later. He lay still and waited for the energy to move like that again. It came sooner than he expected. He moved his hand and another jolt ran through his body. It was an addicting sensation. The heady feeling that came with each jolt became easier to process each time. Eventually, he began to move his whole hand whenever he wanted to. Which was often.

Just on a whim, when the room became a bit less dark at that moment, he moved his other hand. It took a minute. And never before did he put energy into it the way he did then. He put his all. When he’d done it, he shortly moved onto his wrist. Then both his arms.

The room became much brighter the day he began to work on his legs (and Merlin was that a much easier feat than moving his arms). Once he had all his limbs mobile, he was a bit stuck on what to do next. Should he move his body? Should he roll over?

Shifting to his right sounded like a good idea. He put pressure on his right side and moved his entire body. It took effort but he was soon lying on his side, with a better vantage point to see a bed in a corner of the room. His curiosity was piqued again. He wanted to sit up. He wanted to move and walk over to the bed.

So he worked on that for a long while. The first moment he stood up, it was very anticlimactic. The room was pitch black. He couldn’t see the bed. Somehow, he still knew exactly where it was. It was like his body remembered. He walked over, taking each step slow and steady.

When he was sitting on the bed, he felt the comforter with his hands. Then he ran his hands along until they felt the bed posts. His nail scratched slightly on the wood as he moved.

A jolt ran through him.

Which was very surprising, indeed. He scratched at the wood again, and this time a heady thrill raced through his veins. He felt a thrumming within his ears, then actual sounds. Was that a gasp? It sounded like people talking.

But then the moment went away. His head cleared and he realized the room was visible. He could see couches this time, and a bookcase in the far side of the room.

He stood up and began to explore.

* * *

 

With almost every touch on a new object, something seemed to stir within him. It was slow moving at the beginning. First, the thrumming in his ears. Then the sounds of movement or whispers came from the room. He knew they were not actually real. He figured the pictures he saw and the sounds that he was hearing were memories of a time Before.

He didn’t who he was, or where he was. But he knew that whatever _here_ was, there must’ve been a Before. He couldn’t have been like this his entire life. What kind of existence was that?

Once he’d become familiar with the concept of a Before, he began to realize that time actually was passing. It had to be. When he’d figured that out, he realized that the area he inhabited was a room. A simple but not completely furnished room. And that it had a door.

He walked across the room towards the door. He grabbed the knob to turn it, but it didn’t move. The door was locked.

The jolt that went through him then was completely opposite from before. It was another emotion. A different one. He felt afraid.

He didn’t know what to do next. He felt scared of the door for some reason. He moved away from it, and didn’t go near it for a long while.

* * *

 

He tried again later, eventually. He turned the knob. Expectedly, it didn’t budge. He knocked on the door with his fists, then went on to slam into it with his entire body. It didn’t move.

He nearly gave up after countless tries. He became so frustrated, he felt his face screw up with impatience and irritation. Then he yelled aloud. His voice surprised him at first and he stopped. Then he yelled again, just because. It felt good. His throat thrummed as he screamed aloud. His voice became louder, and this was the most noise he’d heard in an eternity. He felt good, really good. He felt powerful. He felt like he could do anything.

He began smiling, almost maniacally as he continued to scream at the door. His voice was weakening, but he didn’t care. His yelling grew louder and louder. He just wanted the door to _open_.

With a sudden burst of something — it felt like a smoky, liquid fire racing out from his chest down to arms and out of his hands — the door was blasted open.

He felt dumbfounded, at first. He wasn’t sure what just happened. He only had a moment to marvel at the way the door was forced open, though, when a sudden onslaught of horrifying images filled his vision.

Bloodcurdling screams sounded from all around him, and he covered his ears to try and drown them out. It was a useless endeavor. The cries of multiple women and children rang through the room, hurting his ears. They sounded so frightened. Roaring could be heard next. Like animals fighting or creatures howling.

And there was so much blood. Everywhere. People ran around covered in it. Fire and smoke clouded his vision. There were so many people moving about, and more who were laying so still on the ground. Unmoving. Their eyes wide and frozen with fear.

He tried to close his eyes and screamed at them to go away.

Then the yelling and the howls began to fade into nothing. Dark laughter sounded around him.

“Awake at last, I see.”

He opened his eyes. He didn’t see anyone around. He didn’t know where the voice was coming from.

“Conscious and sentient, but with no memory. You’re like a blank slate. Interesting.”

Where was this voice? Who was talking? He felt so confused and scared again.

“This is my body. Your mind was in a sort of sleep, recovering from psychological trauma.”

Trauma?

“I’ll admit, I’m surprised your mind is still alive and functioning after everything that happened to you. But you may be of use. I am in need of your exclusive knowledge.”

There was a flutter of wind in front of him and suddenly a man appeared where there was nothing before.

He jumped back, startled.

The man in front of him appeared young and healthy, and he smiled at him. But something about the man unnerved him.

“Don’t be alarmed. We share the same body. Although, I’m the only one at full control at the moment.”

Who was this man?

“I am a living being that was once part of the Dark Lord. He transferred his life force from his body into yours. I am that life force.”

Dark Lord?

“You may refer to me as Lord Mors, as is my given name from my Master. Do you recall who you are?”

A dozen images were flying through his mind, but he couldn’t concentrate on a single one. Memories that blurred together. Names and faces and places overwhelmed him.

Throughout it all, tiny fragments of light filled the memories. He realized these light fragments were the sources of the room not being as dark as it’d been before.

With the tiny fragments in sight, he concentrated. He tried to recall who he was. What his name was. One word flitted through his thoughts.

_Harry._

The man in front of him laughed.

“Harry? No. That is not your name. Who is Harry?”

He suddenly didn’t know. Out of all the words and names that raced through him, that had been the only one that’d made sense to him. It filled him with a sense of rightness.

“Your name is Draco Malfoy, former son and pureblood heir of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.”

Former?

“You’re essentially deceased. Now that I’ve taken control of your physical body, unless this form is killed, we cannot be separated.”

Two minds in one body.

“In a sense.”

But he was in a room. Had he been locked up?

“When I first gained influence of your physical body, your mind was broken. In order to shield my own from distractions or broken neurological pathways, I locked the damaged section away until it was repaired and healed. I see that now it has been. The mind is an amazing entity in and of itself.”

Suddenly, more memories came. Horrible ones. He heard loud, torturous screaming echoing through a dungeon. He felt chains surrounding his wrists. He saw green eyes that burned with fire. Wands slashing, spells that caused pain. Blood. Yelling.

He had to get away. He had to hide.

“Your mind is wondrous. How have you not been utterly broken?”

He needed something. He was missing something… or someone…

_Harry. Harry._

The word made all the pain seemingly fall away. Everything else seemed to blur.

“Harry…?”

But he paid no attention to the man now. The memories were all narrowing and focusing down to a distinct shape. Another blurry memory. A figure of someone. The tiny light fragments encompassed the memory of this person entirely.

He slowly felt the being’s presence slip away and the door close. But it didn’t lock. Not that he paid it much mind. He was too busy concentrating and feeling something other than numbness. He was feeling lighter now. He was feeling, dare he say it, a bit happy. Calm. Almost peaceful.

He didn’t know who this Harry person was. But whoever he was, Harry felt like home. In a room filled with darkness and uncertainty, that was all that mattered.

* * *

 

He hadn’t even known he’d fallen asleep until his eyes opened. The room was much brighter than before. The tiny fragments now were surrounding the ceiling of the room above him. They floated in the air, like a million broken pieces.

He sat up and crossed the room to the doorway. He went to open it.

“You don’t want to do that.”

He jumped and looked to the side. The man from before stood there. Mors, he’d called himself. Mors was smiling. His smile unnerved him. It looked almost malicious.

“I’d stay in here, if I were you. You don’t want to open that door. You might not like what’s on the other side.”

He heard the man’s warning, but he didn’t care. Something had fueled him overnight with an energy he’d never felt before. He felt determined, powerful. Like he could do anything.

He ignored Mors and turned the knob to open the door.

At once, an onslaught of shouts of terror filled the room. He looked past the doorway, and became utterly still at the sight before him.

It was an entire town, homes and buildings and businesses, and they were all on fire. It was like seeing magic within the flames as they danced and leapt wildly from structure to structure, eating everything in its path. There were people everywhere, screaming as they ran for their lives. Men and women were fighting with wands, throwing out spells. But it was futile. All of them were soon struck down by figures in black.

He watched as the scenery moved fast throughout the town. He realized that he was moving. No, Mors was moving. And fast, too. He was leaping through the shadows of the flames that was engulfing the entire town.

Anyone that Mors encountered or crossed eyes with was quickly slain by a slash of his hand. Blood burst through the air and into the night.

He felt sick. He wanted to run away. He wanted to scream at all of those people who weren’t running away from him, who were being slain by his hand.

“Look at them!”

The man was back. His dark eyes were different than before. They glowed with an intense energy.

“Look at how they run! Their screams are so loud! They must be silenced!”

Three more bodies fell in Mors’ wake.

Three pairs of eyes that stared empty towards him. One belonged to a younger person. A child.

Merlin, he felt like he was going to cry. He was going to be sick.

Then a figure stumbled into sight, which caught Mors’ attention. It was a small woman. She was weeping hysterically, and bleeding from a wound on her head.

_Run! Get away from him!_

But he could feel the man’s enjoyment at the sight of her.

He wanted to scream as Mors raised his hand to kill the woman. But the woman’s eyes suddenly met his.

They were green. So brilliantly, utterly green. Like the killing spell.

_Like Harry’s._

Mors froze suddenly, his hand stopping inches from the woman’s throat.

He was confused for a moment. But then he felt the dark being’s anger roiling through him.

“You dare to control me?!”

The words were yelled throughout his mind. He winced at the impulse to hide from such a terrifying voice.

“RELEASE ME!”

The command was loud and it echoed though his mind with its forcefulness. His concentration broke, and Mors’ hand continued its path quickly.

Blood burst into the air.

Her green eyes, so full of life and vitality, grew dim. Empty. Her body went limp. Her youthful skin became pale. She was dead before her body fell to the ground.

He watched, horrified as he stared at those eyes that dimmed and at the blood that seeped from her. It was all too eerie and familiar to him, for some reason. The woman, whomever she may have been, reminded him of someone. Her death frightened him with a fear that was different than the others’.

“Who did she remind you of? I wonder.”

He stilled.

“Nasty shock, that was. You’re stronger than I’d given you credit for.”

This was bad. Something bad had just happened.

“This girl reminded you of someone. Was it that Harry person you mentioned before?”

He tried not to think. He tried to block his thoughts.

“Occlumency shields.” The man’s voice sounded grudgingly impressed. “No wonder your mind has survived this long.”

He didn’t know what Mors was talking about.

“I cannot have you doing that again, though. That shouldn’t have happened.” Mors frowned. “I should kill you, but you may be of use to me. My master tells me you were friends with the enemy. You may have vital information.”

Unbidden memories came to the forefront of his mind. Images of people, green eyes again, an old man, secrets, talks in the night, objects…

“Yes…?”

An oath. A ring, a diary…

“Go on.”

A locket, a cup…

“ _Excellent_.”

And then a knife with an encrusted hilt. The light began to grow brighter. A prophecy. He was going to destroy him. Harry was going to destroy Lord Voldemort. Harry was going to save him. Win the war. Save the wizarding world —

“ENOUGH!”

A force slammed into him, knocking him backwards and back into the room.

Red eyes glared at him when he managed to look up.

“I control this body. I am Lord Mors.”

The man’s aura and power was deadly. It overwhelmed his mind so much so that he couldn’t concentrate on anything any longer. The memories all fell away like water. Even his own strength seemed to wane in the wake of Lord Mors’ anger.

“Try something like that again and you will not survive,” was his last warning. Then the man left, leaving him once again in darkness as the flickering lights above him began to dim.

* * *

 

On and on it went. Blood and screams and fire. Mors went from village to village, terrorizing and raiding through like some vicious creature. He killed everyone in his path, and those who managed to survive his terror were only kept alive so that they could spread the news of his work throughout the wizarding communities as a warning.

Mors was like an unstoppable dark force. No one could strike him down. Not even the few Order members that dared to battle with him. They usually put up a good fight, but even they were inevitably struck down in the most agonizing ways.

It sickened him. He hated what Mors was doing, killing all those innocent people.

While he had no idea of what was going on or what was happening, he knew that Mors wasn’t good and that he killed mostly for the sheer pleasure of it. Mors had meetings with dark creatures often, and he made negotiations and spoke with Lord Voldemort plenty of times. He would overhear the darkest secrets of the Dark Lord as he and Mors met together on plans to rule the wizarding world together. But nothing pleasured Mors more than the act of getting his hands dirty, and it positively sickened him that his body was being made into a dark, soulless killing machine.  

He tried to stop Mors from within his mind. He tried everything from distraction to mental assault. Nothing worked. He was too weak. And growing weaker. The more the Dark Creature killed and behaved using his body, the more he felt himself slipping away.

He felt himself reverting to how he was before. He hardly moved around. He didn’t speak. For the most part, he just lay there unmoving. Hopeless. He was trapped inside a room that had no way out. What was the point of fighting? He’d practically given up.

But then he felt something different one day.

It was just a light flutter at first. He didn’t know how to explain it except that it felt like a warm sensation coming right from his chest. He’d ignored it, not willing to spare what little strength he had left on something so insignificant.

But today something was different. He knew Mors was meeting with a few of his Lord’s followers. He wanted to listen in and try to gain some valuable information. For what, he had no idea. But like in times past, he didn’t have the strength. He didn’t know what it was that was draining him. Whether it was Mors who was somehow involved, or some other higher being, he felt the same lethargy and frailty as he had when he’d first awakened.

The fluttering in his chest grew into an itch. He began to scratch at the area right above his heart. His hand began to tingle, too.

Voices began to fill his mind. He didn’t pay much attention to them at first. But then he felt something else different. Or someone…

 _Draco_ …

He sat up quick.

_Draco I’m here._

That voice!

He knew that voice. He didn’t know how, but he did.

Strength filled his limbs once more. He stood up instantly and crossed the room to open the door. Light flooded his vision. He realized Mors was in a home. He was in some sort of drawing room, specifically. Other than that, he knew nothing except that Mors was sitting by a fireplace.

… _my love_ …

His eyes widened and he felt a grin spread across his face. He didn’t know what the words entirely meant, but he knew they were important.

He was here. Harry. Harry was here.

… _I found you_.

Yes, Harry. Yes, you found me. I’m here.

Hurry.

* * *

 

Everything happened so fast after that. Spells were cast wildly. People were yelling. Prisoners of some sort were led away. He hadn’t had a chance to see who the prisoners were.

But the voice returned over and over, chanting his name with a plea that echoed inside his own veins.

_Draco, can you hear me?_

He tried to respond. Tried to yell out. But his strength was fading fast again. The light was dimming once more.

What was happening? Why did he feel so weak again?

I’m here, he tried to say. I’m right here.

Eventually, he just collapsed into himself on the ground. He tried to conserve energy by not moving too much or thinking. He only put his strength into trying to communicate with Harry.

I’m here.

I’m here.

I’m “…here,” he spoke aloud.

His throat felt so dry and it stung from trying to use it. The pain burned the inside of his throat.

He tried again anyway.

“…here. Harry… I’m… he’s… here…”

And then he felt him.

Harry was suddenly in the same room as him.

He saw Mors searching for the same person he was and when his eyes met green at long last, he let out a relieved sigh.

 _At last, after all this time_.

Harry was here to save him.

* * *

 

It was very disheartening to see the one you love being tortured right in front of you and you being unable to help in any way.

That was how he felt as he glared at the sight of Mors touching his Harry during the two’s conversation at the Manor. He wished he had the strength to rip Mors away from Harry. He watched as his lover was tormented and threatened, and all the while, he felt rage bubbling inside him.

It grew to be too much.

Once Harry had begun to plead right in front of him for Mors to let him go, that was the last straw.

With all of his might and willpower, he threw himself into taking full control of his physical body and wrenched Mors away from Harry.

He’d underestimated his own magic, however.

As he shouted aloud his fury and shame at Mors’ actions, he felt magic well inside of his veins. That same burning feeling from before that flowed between his chest and the rest of his body filled him again. He only had one thought, one command in mind, and his body flew as he threw Mors across the room.

He felt the painful impact the same way as Mors did. It nearly knocked him unconscious. Luckily (or unluckily) for him, Mors was extremely powerful and he remained attentive while he watched Harry and his friends escape.

He felt so relieved, while also tremendously drained from his magical effort.

And Mors was enraged. Very much so.

* * *

 

Mors was planning something. He didn’t know how he knew this. He did know that it meant something bad was going to happen.

He’d seen what Mors had done to torture, murder, and attack innocent wizards and creatures. He knew what Mors was capable of, which was why he was so afraid at the fact that Mors hadn’t acted in the slightest way after he’d helped Harry escape the Manor a few days ago. Mors had also been very quiet. Before, while Mors’ thoughts had been hidden, he’d manage to catch snippets of ideas here and there. Now, he wasn’t able to sense anything anymore, and that frightened him more than anything.

Lord Voldemort tasked Mors with finding Harry Potter, which filled him with both delight and dread. He didn’t know what Mors wanted with Harry. But he could feel Mors’ hunger for Harry. It rivaled his own longing for the other boy.

As Mors moved in the shadows as he searched multiple wizarding towns and locations for Harry Potter, he swore he’d stop Mors from killing Harry with everything he had. He didn’t know how, but he had to gain total control of his body soon. He had to protect and save Harry from Mors.  

When Mors approached the gates of Hogwarts and the current residing Headmaster, a wave of regret and sadness overcame him at the sight of his old Potions Professor. He wished he could somehow communicate with the older man. He needed his help. He needed guidance.

“Severus,” he whispered, wishing with all his might that Snape could hear him. But Mors was already walking away from him. Closer to Harry.

Dammit, he was running out of time.

He needed to take control of Mors now. Otherwise, he’d be too late and Mors could kill Harry.

He felt it when Mors tried to access his own memory banks to find where Harry could be hiding. He tried to use Occlumency, but Mors was too powerful. The dark magic that encompassed Mors was the most powerful he had ever heard of. Harry stood no chance against him. He knew he had to take control now, before Harry got hurt. He had to.

As Mors overheard Harry’s whereabouts from the trio that was Granger and the two Weasleys — his memories of them were a bit hazy, but he recalled they were Harry’s friends — he worked to build up his magic in one swift blow against Mors. He could feel his magical essence filling his veins and throughout his entire body. His magic felt hot, inviting, and powerful. He almost felt like himself again. He could strike now.

But he knew he had to time it just right, when Mors was least expecting it.

Sure enough, Mors was becoming distracted with his hunger and bloodlust for Harry. The dark being couldn’t even remember how to open the Room of Hidden Things.

He worked his magic to let it slip how to unlock the room.

 _I need the Room that Harry and I share_.

Mors didn’t even notice his intrusion, blinded as he was with excitement for Harry.

Mors reached the door handle to walk in, and Draco finally struck.

* * *

 

Green eyes.

That was all he could see. It was all that mattered and a hidden strength filled him.

Draco fought with Mors, their magic clashing in a fiery storm that took his breath away. His body was suffering from the chaotic onslaught as they fought each other for control. His breath was coming in gasps and his throat felt tight as he choked on the heady magic that filled him. His limbs were shaking. His skin felt like it was burning from the inside out.

But he preservered as he fought back hard against Mors.

Harry had no idea, standing there as he stared at them, awestruck or wary. Maybe both.

Inside of him, Mors was fighting like an enraged animal, clawing at him as he roared out with fury.

Cut and bleeding, Draco only focused on those two beautiful green eyes, using their magic to drive him as he unleashed his own assault on Mors.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

Draco vaguely heard Harry’s voice coming from in front of him.

Mors tried to answer, but Draco clamped down harder onto his magic.

“N-N-N-No…”  No, you are not getting him, he tried to tell Mors. It was a promise that Draco was intending to keep.

And it seemed to be working. Little by little, Draco could feel that he was winning. He felt an awareness slowly leaking into him at the same time as he felt the dark presence of Mors disappearing. He felt himself gaining control of his body again. He could hear with his own ears, smell with his own nose. He felt real again. Draco twitched his hand. His real hand, not just some memory of one trapped in his mind.

His lips spread into a smile.

He was back. Draco was back. He’d defeated Mors.

It was almost too easy.

“Mors. I expected you to come after me. I didn’t think you’d come so soon —“

“Harry.”

Goodness, even Draco’s voice sounded good to his own ears. It looked like Harry appreciated it, too, if his green eyes growing wide meant anything.

“H-Harry,” Draco spoke again, just because he could. Merlin, he felt so different now, so alive. No longer hollow. “Harry, it’s m-me, Draco.”

But his strength felt like it was fading again. He was tired. Exhausted, more like. He’d just waged a magical battle with a more powerful darker being.

But all that mattered to him was seeing Harry again. Draco couldn’t stop smiling. He couldn’t look away from Harry’s eyes. They were mesmerizing. And Harry… Merlin, that boy. Draco had never seen anyone more beautiful than him at that moment.

“Finally. I found you,” Draco whispered aloud, feeling like something was freed within him. He felt so light. Too light. He could barely hold up his head now.

He was falling. Falling. He vaguely registered Harry’s gorgeous green eyes growing with confusion, then alarm.

Draco felt himself fall down hard, and then all he saw was blackness again.

**Author's Note:**

> I will be updating the chapters to Part 4 of this series soon, so keep an eye out for it! Part 4 will be titled, Through Our Eyes. Thanks for reading and continuing to be a loyal fan of this series. You guys are the best! 
> 
> I appreciate constructive comments and kudos! Xx


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